


Amazon

by aggiepuff



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Losers (2010), The Losers - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cora Redrock (OC), F/M, Soulmate marks, mentions of various X-Men, shenanigans abound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-03-15 13:23:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13614243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aggiepuff/pseuds/aggiepuff
Summary: Melody Lancaster was only supposed to be doing a favor for her eccentric grandfather. She didn't sign up to find her Soulmate.





	1. Chapter 1

The bar in who the hell knew where, South America is dingy, darkly lit and reeking of Jose Cuervos. SHIELD STRIKE commando Melody Lancaster had just taken the final sip of her Corona and is reaching for her wallet to dig out a couple of US dollars--her mission is over, no need to keep a low profile anymore--when her phone rings. Immediately she changes direction, her hand going for her jacket’s inside pocket on her left rather than the one on her right. She pulls the metal and plastic rectangle out and, without bothering to look at the Caller ID, presses the talk button, bringing the speaker up to her ear. “Yeah?”

“Need a favor,” the voice on the other end says; it’s a baritone and gravelly with age, pleasant, the vowels a New York drawl Melody knows well. She frowns. “How’d you get this number?”

“I might be retired but I’m not completely out of the loop.” The man is laughing, Melody can tell.

She shifts on her barstool, angling herself so she can see the bartender at one end of the rough wooden bar as well as keep an eye for anyone coming up behind her. “This is an encrypted line, Pop,” she says, voice low. “You can't go calling it on a whim. Besides, isn't Darce’s debate regional finals today? Shouldn't you be doing the loving grandfather-slash-legal guardian thing and supporting her?”

“Of course I am. She’s doing very well,” Pop says. Melody can just see him waving his hand dismissively. “I did say I need a favor and this will only take a minute.”

Melody sighs, long and long-suffering. “What's the favor?”

“Now don't you go takin’ that tone with me,” he scolds, a smile in the lightness of his voice.

Melody rolls her eyes. “The favor?” She asks again.

“I have a friend down where you're at. Might need an extra set of hands.”

For a moment Melody wonders how he knows where she is but decides against asking, the answer wouldn't matter anyway. “What's your friend’s name?”

“Frank Clay.”

Melody sits a little straighter. She knows that name. Why does she know that name? “Your prodigy?” She guesses. “The guy you trained hoping he’d join SHIELD but he chose Army Special Ops instead?”

“That would be the idiot.”

“What happened?”

“He got himself into a bit of a jam with his CIA handler, him and his team. They've all been declared dead but my Intel says they're really just stuck in Bolivia and the situation is entirely FUBAR.”

“Ah huh. And you want me to do what, exactly?”

“Lend him a hand of course! He’s got something’ cookin’ and could use someone with your particular skill set.”

“My particular skill set? What, is he going to war?”

Pop laughs. “Something like that.”

Melody groans. Why is it her grandfather is always dragging her into these situations? First, he got her into SHIELD, then he finagled her into joining the STRIKE team—not that she hadn’t earned her place every single time, no one had any doubts about that, but she wouldn’t have even considered them options if it weren’t for Pop. Sometimes it sucked being Timothy “Dum Dum” Dugan’s granddaughter.

 

* * *

 

A month later finds Melody in another dive bar in South America, this time having migrated North to Bolivia. Across from her a dark skinned, black haired woman lounges in a wooden chair. She eyes Melody suspiciously, her long fingers wrapped around her beer. “And what do I get out of this?” she asks with an arch of her pierced eyebrow.

“You get the man who killed your father,” Melody says with an easy smile, taking a sip of her own beer.

The woman freezes. Her expression doesn’t change and neither does her posture but her whole body sort of stiffens, even the strands of hair framing her face seem to go rigid. “You know who killed my father.” It’s not a question. Every molecule of her being seems poised on the edge, energy humming just beneath her skin.

Melody nods. “I know who killed your father.”

Dark eyes flash. “What’s the catch?”

“You have to use my team.”

The woman scowls. “I don’t work with SHIELD.”

Melody doesn’t ask how the woman knows about SHIELD; it’s not really important. She takes another draft of her beer. Still smiling, still relaxed, she says, “Good thing these guys aren’t SHIELD, then.”

The woman’s eyes narrow. “Who are they?”

Melody shrugs. “Consider them mercenaries with a personal vendetta,” she says. “Your boy burned them pretty bad. Tried to kill them and everything. They’re looking for payback.”

The woman takes a sip of her beer. “Why come to me?” she asks. “It’s not like you don’t have your own resources.”

“True.”

The woman watches her, waiting for Melody to offer further explanation. Melody sips her Corona, silent. At the table next to them two old women chat in Spanish and behind her companion Melody sees two hombres eyeing them, especially Melody’s ginger hair. One of them makes a kissy face at her when he catches her looking. Melody rolls her eyes.

Finally, the woman sighs, the tension leaving her with the breath. “Who’s your team?”

Melody smiles. From the inside of her jacket she produces a thick folder. She slides it across the wooden table. “Five guys,” she says as her companion flips the folder open. “Special Ops. Very good at what they do. Only trick is the world thinks they’re dead. Your job is to get them in the country. Once you have a plan for that you call me and tell me where to meet and I’ll point you in the right direction from there. Sound fair?” The woman narrows her eyes. Melody returns the glare with a lazy smile as she stands. Tossing a pair of bills on the table she adds, “Good luck, Aisha al-Fadhil. I look forward to your call.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers arrive in the United States

It takes a week for Aisha to call. When she does Melody is back Stateside. She had finally finished her mission reports for the Op in Uruguay, the forms themselves completed in triplicate and handed in to Sitwell for review. She is exiting the D.C. SHIELD office when her phone rings, the same encrypted phone on which she had received that first call. Again, without checking the Caller ID, Melody brings the phone to her ear. “Hello?” 

“We land at 0930.” 

“Good to hear from you,” Melody says. “Hope you’ve been well.” 

“We’ll be landing in DC at 0930,” Aisha repeats. She sounds irritated. 

Melody tries not to smile. “Send me the coordinates,” she instructs, “and I will see you and my boys at 0930.” 

Without waiting for a reply Melody clicks the call off.  _ Now comes the hard part _ . She sighs. The only good thing about this mission is SHIELD had decided to legitimize it instead of it just being a favor for her eccentric grandfather. This way, if everything goes TARFU, she won’t be left out in the cold. But it’s still a complete blackout. With the target being high level CIA, SHIELD doesn’t want anyone tracing the op back to them. It could be misconstrued as...petty. 

Melody memorizes the coordinates Aisha sent then sends off a quick text— _ green means go— _ before completely dismantling her phone. Blackout means blackout. She is on her own. At least, until she completes the mission. Thankfully, she is already in D.C., doesn’t have to worry about transportation. 

The next morning finds Melody outside a warehouse signing a false name for the bodies of five US citizens. Aisha stands at her side, dressed in a professional pantsuit and heels; quite different from the skinny jeans and ratty tank top of their first meeting. 

“Clever,” Melody comments as they turn away from the customs agent and enter the warehouse. Aisha shrugs, pulling out a knife, flipping it open. She marches across the concrete floor, fog from the supercooled room swirling around her feet. Melody follows her, hands stuffed into jacket pockets and the tapping of flat boots echoing in the empty space, to five dark coffins, each one sealed by a strap of heavy plastic. Aisha cuts the bindings as if they are butter, working her way through the little collection until she stops on the other side opposite Melody and closes her knife with a snap, stuffing it back into her pocket. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, gentlemen,” Aisha says as five men emerge from the coffins. 

A couple of the men mutter, complaints Melody is sure. She waits patiently for the men to regain their feet, some gracefully, others less so. In the dim light of the warehouse it is difficult for Melody to make out faces so, instead of trying, once they are all free of their coffins she simply asks, “Which one of you is Colonel Clay?” 

The reaction is immediate. Suddenly she has six different guns—the man wearing the cowboy hat holds two—of six different calibers pointing straight at her head. Melody holds her hands aloft, empty and seemingly harmless, expression carefully blank. 

“Who the hell are you?!” the burly black man at the back of the group growls. 

“I thought you said they were your team!” Aisha accuses. 

“Your team?” Another of the men squawks; he’s slightly shorter than the others. “We don't even know you!” 

Melody tries very hard not to roll her eyes. She fails. “You don't know me,” she says, “but I know you. And I have a message for Colonel Clay from a mutual friend.” 

“Don't,” a voice rumbles, “call me Colonel.” 

Melody’s eyebrow rises as a stocky, dark haired man steps forward, his gun still trained on her. If she isn't mistaken there is a drop of blood at his collar. He glares at Melody from a pale, haggard face. She smiles at him, recognizing the glare from his file portrait. “Colonel Clay, I presume?” she says. 

“If you don’t tell us who you are I’m gonna shoot you!” It’s the big black man again. 

Melody eyes him. “I’m a friend of a friend,” she repeats. 

Clay snorts. “A friend of a friend?” 

Melody hums. “Yep.” The corner of her mouth twitches up. “And Dugan says he told you so.” 

Clay gives a mirthless laugh, lowers his gun and stows it in his waistband. Around him his men look between him and Melody, their own guns falling. The spiky-haired blond asks, “Who’s Dugan?” 

Clay ignores him. “You work for SHIELD, too?” 

“Hell no!” Cries the man who had seemed affronted at the idea that they worked for her. He turns to Clay. “SHIELD? Nah, man, come on!” 

Melody tilts her head. “I don’t work for SHIELD—at the moment.” 

“At the moment?” Spiky Hair asks, eyeing her. 

The black words over her heart tingle. Melody smiles at him. At least her Soulmate is cute, too bad it’s not the right time. 

Spiky Hair smirks at her in turn, looks her up and down. 

“Don’t even start,” the big man snarls. 

Clay sighs. “Let’s just go.” 

Melody tosses Spiky Hair one last smile over her shoulder before leading their little group out of the warehouse. Stepping into the sunlight she glances at Aisha. The other woman is thunderous. “You lied to me,” she snarls. 

Melody rolls her eyes. “Withheld, not lied. And what are you bitching about? It’s not like you told them who you are.” 

Aisha doesn’t say another word. Melody flashes her a smile and turns to the five men. In the bright sunlight she can finally put names to shadowy profiles. The aggressive black man is Cpt. William Roque, second-in-command, specializing in demo and tactical; Spiky Hair, her soulmate, is Cpt. Jake Jensen, comms and tech; the Stetson wearer is  Sgt. Carlos 'Cougar' Alvarez, officially their long-range eliminations guy but that’s just a fancy word for sniper; and their fifth man, who had protested getting involved with SHIELD, is Sgt. Linwood 'Pooch' Porteous, transportation and heavy weapons guru.

Melody looks them all over. They’re dirtier than their dossier portraits, that is to be expected, but none of them look sick or injured. Satisfied, Melody pulls out a flash drive, holding it up for them to see. “On this drive,” she says, addressing the men as one— _ No chance to match— _ “is all the information SHIELD has on the guy you’re looking for. As I’m sure you already know, his name is Max and he works for the CIA.” At their grunts and nods, Melody continues, “He’s pretty high level CIA so officially you’re on your own. Unofficially, though,”—she smirks—"unofficially, if you get Max and embarrass the CIA while you’re at it I can tell you that SHIELD will work their magic. At the end of this, if all goes well, you’ll have your old lives back and all of you will have a new job.” 

“And how do we know we can trust you?” Pooch demands, scowling at her. 

Melody shrugs. “You don’t, really.” Looking to Clay, she adds, “But I’m doing this as a favor for my grandfather.” 

Clay raises a dark eyebrow at her. “Your grandfather?” 

Melody smiles. “For some reason the old man likes you, even if he still thinks you’re a dumbass for not choosing SHIELD. I think he’s hoping you’ll make a different choice this time around.” 

“This time around?” 

“Like I said, old lives  _ and _ a new job.” 

Clay grunts. Behind him, his men shift, looking at each other. Melody glances to Aisha. “That includes you.” 

Aisha snorts. “I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s all I can ask.” Turning back to the assembled men, Melody adds, “Well, I’m just going to leave you to your wholesale destruction. I wish you all luck and happy hunting!” 

She makes to leave, heading across the lot to her untraceable SUV, but a voice stops her. “You’re not coming with us?” 

Melody turns back, smiling at Jensen. He’d taken a small step towards her, as if he might go after her and bring her back bodily.  _ If he’d tried he would’ve ended up dead, silly man _ . She smiles at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be around for the finale. Someone’s gotta do clean up!” And with that she steps into her SUV, revving the engine and leaving the six highly skilled operatives in her rearview. She has no doubt that they will succeed. From their files she knows their lethality. Besides, Melody has a secondary mission to run complementarity to theirs. While they go after Max she would go after his intelligence. It’s a win-win, really. 

Only after she starts driving away does she realize she spoke to her Soulmate.  _ Well, shit _ .


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melody's mission is done--just in time to save her Soulmate from a suicide mission.

The next time Melody sees one of the Dangerous Six, as she’s taken to calling them in her head, she is pulling Aisha into her Ops van, having found the woman in an alley in the area where Melody knows the team has holed up preparing for the final assault. The other woman wears only a black lingerie set with glass glittering in her hair and blood oozing from a gouge in her right bicep, left by what had to have been a bullet that only barely missed its mark. 

“What the  _ hell _ happened?” Melody demands, grabbing down the first aid kit. 

“He killed my father!” Aisha spits like an enraged feral cat. “He  _ killed  _ him!” 

Melody applies the antiseptic. Aisha hisses. “Who killed him?” Melody asks, pressing gauze against the wound, securing it with medical tape. “What are you talking about?” 

“Clay killed my father! He shot him!” 

Melody wants so badly to roll her eyes.  _ Unnecessary drama will be the death of me! _ “And you tried to kill him,” she guesses, pulling back. “Damn it, Aisha! Clay is  _ not _ the reason your father is dead. I read the report. Your father would have ended up dead one way or the other and not because of Clay. Max put a bullseye on him a full month before Clay and his team went to Bolivia. Clay might have been the bullet, but Max pulled the trigger. Keep your damn eyes on the damn prize.” 

Aisha seethes. Melody growls, crawling back to the driver’s seat. She doesn't have time to play shrink for a vengeance fueled daddy’s girl, no matter how much she likes the woman. Her side mission is done but when she’d handed in all of Max’s intel to SHIELD, one of the cyber analysts had flagged something odd. Melody had gotten a call and promptly grabbed one of SHIELD’s ops vans. Shit is going down and her Soulmate and his team are heading face first into a trap. 

Melody tells Aisha what the cyber analyst told her and waits. Per the plan, Melody hasn't had contact with Clay and his team. She doesn't know what their plans are. She doesn't know where they've holed up, only an approximate location. If Aisha refuses to cooperate Melody won't get to the team in time. 

Finally, Aisha snarls and snaps out the hotel’s address and directions. Melody floors it, but by the time the women burst into the hotel room it's too late, the room is deserted. 

Mirror shards crunch beneath Melody’s combat boots as she checks the bathroom and closet. Behind her, Aisha picks her way across the floor to the pile of her clothes thrown carelessly into a corner. Melody eyes the bullet holes in the walls and sighs. “This is so much unnecessary shooting,” she says. “Hand-to-hand or knives would have been easier—and quieter.” 

Aisha snorts. “I’m better at both those things than them.” 

Melody studies her. “Probably, but even you couldn't have beaten five strong men by yourself. And that way they wouldn't have wasted bullets.” 

“So glad you have your priorities,” Aisha snarls. 

“I have many priorities,” Melody says breezily. “At the moment, my first priority is to keep those men alive and help them complete their mission.” 

“And why is that, I wonder,” Aisha challenges as she ties her Converse. “Why so interested?” 

Melody tries very hard not to roll her eyes and fails. “I told you,” she says, “I'm doing a favor for a mutual friend. Plus, SHIELD brass wants the Colonel and his team to come play for our side. It's my job to make that happen. Now,” she crosses her arms and glares at Aisha, “I’ve got a fully stocked armory in the back of my van. Do you want to continue questioning my motives and bitch about your dead daddy—who was, by all accounts, a very bad man who used  _ children _ as mules—or do you want to go give Max the CIA asshole the day from Hell?” 

The glare Aisha sends Melody’s way is murderous, but she says nothing and when they reach the shipyard Melody is unsurprised when Aisha yanks the rocket launcher off the weapons rack. She doesn’t bother looking at Melody as she straps even more miscellaneous weaponry to her person before charging out of the van. Melody sighs and follows her out, swinging her own Colt M4A1 over her shoulders, having already strapped her army issue knives to her thighs and her pair of Glock 26s on her hips. Aisha had taken significantly more firepower, but then, for all that she likes to pretend, Aisha isn't a one-woman army. 

By the time Melody reaches what seems to be the battlefield, Aisha has already rained fiery death on her enemies via rocket launcher. Melody dodges the hail of flaming shrapnel, following the three men making a mad dash for the relative shelter of shipping containers. She rounds the corner just in time to hear Pooch say, “Oh! This is stupid question day.”

Melody cracks a grin. “Better than death by CIA asshole day,” she says and suddenly finds herself staring down the barrels of three guns. She raises an eyebrow at the men. “Really?” 

Jensen drops his gun first, pouncing on her with a mumbled, “Oh thank God,” his strong arms wrapping around her, pulling her to his chest. Melody breaths in the smell of him, sweat and gun oil and pine-scented hair gel, before pulling back. “What was that for?” 

Jensen grins, white teeth flashing against his ash streaked face. “I can’t be happy to see my Soulmate?” He frowns. “Unless…” 

Melody laughs. “Don’t worry, babe,” she pulls down the collar of her black t-shirt, exposing the spikey scrawl along her collarbone, “you’re mine.” They’re not the most romantic of words but she likes them. And she thinks she might like the man who said them even more. 

Jensen grins like an idiot, starts to lean down—“Hey!” Pooch squawks. “”What’re you two doing?!” 

Melody tosses Pooch a smirk. “Having fun,” she chirps. 

A sound, the whisper of canvas, catches her attention. Melody flips out a knife and whirls, plunging the blade into the throat of the man coming around the corner. Blood sprays and the fight is on. She orders Jensen to haul Pooch in a fireman’s carry, Cougar guards their backs. They work their way across the shipyard. Melody never stops moving. Point, shoot. Punch, kick, twist. Broken bodies fall in her wake. Aisha catches up with them at some point. She’s good, but Melody is better. Melody never misses a shot and when she runs out of bullets she holsters her guns and pulls her knives. 

She’s faster and stronger than she should be, slamming enemy soldiers to the ground, cracking their skulls. Bullets ping off her skin, bouncing away like she is made of cornstarch and water. Someone fires a grenade at them. Melody catches it, chucks it back. The world explodes but she grabs Jensen by the back of his shirt and keeps moving. Finally, they find their ride out. 

“Anyone know how to hotwire a stretch Hummer?” Melody yells. 

“You’re a real-life Wonder Woman and you can’t hotwire a car?” Jensen asks. “Thank God. I was beginning to feel inadequate.” 

Melody laughs. “Babe, you’re the brain and I’m the brawn. You’ll never be inadequate.” 

“Stop flirting and get in!” 

Aisha shoots her a look. “That’s why you’re so focused on them.” 

Melody rolls her eyes. “Don’t think I don’t know about you and Clay so stuff it.” 


End file.
